A Concept and A Carnation
by TDtheMagicMan
Summary: Clyde muses on the concept of love and damnation and gets a bit of courage in the process. Can an ideal and a flower make the difference he needs?


**Title:** A Concept and A Carnation  
**Author:** Twitchable Wiz  
**Fandom:** South Park  
**Genre:** angst/romance  
**Rating:** T or PG-13  
**Pairing:** Clyde/Eric  
**Warnings:** SLASH (LIKE THAT NEEDS TO BE A WARNING, BUT THERE IT IS ANYWAY. DON'T TELL ME YOU DIDN'T SEE IT.), language, mild violence, eensy mention of masturbation. See anything you don't like? Feel free to hit the Back button right now.

_**DISCLAIMER:**_ The characters and universe used in this piece of fiction belong to Matt Stone, Trey Parker, and Comedy Central. Used without permission. No disrespect is intended, no money is made. I do this for my own enjoyment, as well as that of my friends and various people who get a smile out of my deranged writing. Don't sue...you'll get nothing. :)

**Summary:** Clyde muses on the concept of love and damnation and gets a bit of courage in the process. Can an ideal and a flower make the difference he needs?

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HELLO, FFn! It's been awhile, aye?

I'm back with more crappy plot, boring characterisation, and cliche premise than you can shake a stick at. But maybe just maybe you'll crack and grin and think for just a second.

I wrote this little piece back in April while high on love and wonkified from emotional trauma. It was a gift for a beloved friend on her birthday...you might have heard of her. Name's Rachel...affectionately known as Sigmund...better known around here as Lifelike. She's a brilliant writer, a fantastic artist, a beautiful person in her own right, and someone I'm deeply proud to call friend and "little sister".

Clyde/Eric. Not a pairing with much love...but I happen to adore it. That's all Rachel's fault. XD She wrote a story called Intensity that just grabbed at me so much I fell for it. Check it out...it's in my Favorites. There's such a intriguing dynamic to both reading and writing these two that I haven't really found in any other pairing of personalities. An intensity, if you will. ;)

Teenage angst, homophobia, philosophy and psychoanalyzation, cliche fluff and unimaginative, plotless meandering. But I enjoyed writing it. Maybe you'll enjoy reading.

Dedicated to Rach, who amazes me more every day with her talent and humbles me with her friendship; to all my wonderful friends whom I love so dearly, both new and old; to Maggie for bringing me out of my shell and introducing me to a whole world I'd never have experienced otherwise; and to anyone who has struggled with love outside the norm, outside the "accepted", from a poor kid who's been there.

Without further ado...

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**A Concept and A Carnation**

The mind is a complex and wonderful machine...except when it's broken.

The way every little detail of the world around you is processed and stored, lightning fast and with frightening accuracy, whether we realize it consciously or not. Sights, scents, sounds, silk or sandpaper on the fingertips…and yet it's really just chemical and electrical impulses. So science preaches.

I'm not sure if I buy that. Part of me feels that the mind transcends the body…exists in some far plane connected to this existence by the most tenuous of threads. Or maybe I'm just not "logical" enough.

I've always been a dreamer. A schemer. I plot and plan…ponder and prepare. The fantasies that whirl through the twisted landscape of my psyche are by turns both outrageous and the only thing to make me feel sane.

Because sometimes I wonder if I really have such a grip on "the real world".

How long have I been broken? I'm not exactly sure. Maybe God or the Devil know.

If they do…I don't particularly care. Neither has shown any interest in my life and probably never will. I'm just a tally in their columns of wins and losses.

I stare at myself in the mirror and don't know whether to laugh in derision or scream in disgust.

I'm a good-looking guy. Call it vain…but I know I'm attractive.

Spill of shining brown hair falling soft over intelligent eyes so black the pupils don't exist. Mouth perfectly curved, generous…lips dusky and full, lips that were meant to be kissed. Skin the color of good toffee, unmarred by freckles, blemishes, so much as a beauty mark.

I'm not skinny, not fat. I'm solid. Cut, defined…and I never have to work a second in my life for it. Puberty hit and the childhood pudge melted away and I just fell into my new body with ease. Good genetics or pure dumb luck, I'll never know.

And yet only I see all that lies beneath the exterior I was blessed with. Or cursed with. I can never decide which, because people see the outside and never try to look deeper. Girls fawning, guys envious…I hate it. Every second of it.

I know what lurks in the shadows of soulless eyes. The secret depravities and hidden lusts. I'm more flawed than the most grotesque person I know. Some people get their kicks from drugs or sex.

All I want is him.

I've only once ever confided my longing.

The bond between father and son is supposed to be unbreakable. A young boy should be able to look up to his father as a hero. Confide in him and look to him for advice and expect unconditional love and support.

The day I told my father I thought I was in love with Eric Cartman, his soul died. I watched it happen. Saw the light go out in his eyes, heard him give up on life as he told me to never say any such thing again. He spoke those words, calmly stood and with every bit of force he could muster, struck me once across the face. Then he walked out of the room, not looking back.

Dry-eyed and cheek pulsing, I left the house and walked deep into the backwoods of South Park. I hummed in time to the angry throbs of my jaw, nonsense notes fading unheard into the sounds of crackling leaves and the whistle of an April wind. I thought about being on a stage with millions of fans chanting my name.

_CLYDE…CLYDE…CLYDE…CLYDE…_

My father was there in the crowd, face lit up with pride, clapping enthusiastically. Eric was there too, smug grin brightening my whole world as he pointed at me and then pointed at himself, obviously bragging to the people around that I was his.

I smiled and skipped, spinning crazily as I began to lose vision in one eye from the bruising.

When I returned home, the huge dusty family bible was waiting on my bed, Leviticus 20:13 highlighted in angry red pen, the only blemish on the yellowing pages of the old book. Ironic how it remained untouched in its case for so many years before that.

I think I really am defective…because I didn't really think the hellfire and brimstone would be that bad.

I'm not the only fag in town. Christophe and Tweek are stuck together like glue. And nobody cares. Holding hands, pecks on the cheek as they stroll down snow-encrusted sidewalks…the world looks on with an indulgent smile and only I see that they are just as sick as me.

Craig is sick too. I see him looking at Tweek like I look at Eric. But at least Craig knows his sickness for what it is now. He had his heart shattered. He got his divine slap in the face.

We're on the fast train to eternal torment. I'll remember to save Craig a seat. We could both use a friend on the way.

So you ask why I'm standing here, frilly pink carnation in my hand. Eric sits laughing riotously with his friends, exchanging meaningless banalities without a care in the world not ten feet from me.

It's a concept that I have mulled over through long nights of sleeplessness. I toss and turn and try to get my head around complexities nobody has been able to fully explain in the course of human history.

His burly frame and boyish grin excite me. His laugh rings through my head and his intelligence invokes my deepest awe. His charm makes me weak in the knees and his ambition causes that wicked tingling feeling in my groin. I imagine myself crushed in his powerful arms, the smell of chocolate and peppermint invading my nostrils as his tongue slides along my lower lip and his hands firmly clutch my ass. A weak, sinful hand slides through the fly of my pajamas in the night and I touch myself with his name sighing from lips salty with sweat and tears. I envision his face and fire flares along every nerve and I wipe the stickiness from my hand before slipping into dreams full of flesh on flesh, pain and pleasure all at once.

It's a concept unfathomable. I'll never know why, I'll never know how. I just know it sucked me in and I like it.

I lust after him.

I **love** him.

Laws and morals and Heaven and Hell be damned. If I'm going to rot in everlasting agony when I die…I might as well do it with the knowledge that no matter what else I did in my life, he knew that for whatever reason, faulty synapses in my brain or some kind of metaphysical link across time and space, I loved him with every fiber of my being.

I clutch the flower tightly in my hand and my brain whispers that a rose would be more appropriate. Drops of blood hanging from thorns sharp as a father's slap to the face would be more poetic or some bullshit like that.

I walk up to him, palms slippery, right leg shaking violently and he turns to look up at me.

"You alright, Clyde? And what's with the flower?"

I wordlessly hand it to him. He looks at it, puzzled. His eyes shift back to my face, and I fancy myself there's a flicker of hope in them.

"For me? Why?" I'm half-amused by his almost childish confusion, and the tear trailing down my cheek slips into my wistful smile.

"No reason really. I just wanted you to know." I turn and begin walking away. I hear the soft buzz of his friends' whispers and just want to get away before the tears begin in earnest. I always was a crybaby.

A hand grabs my shoulder and I'm spun around forcefully. I wonder if it will hurt as much as my dad and decide not, purely because it's him.

I'm unprepared for his eyes staring wide into mine, brown and green flecks seeming to swirl hypnotically. I can't look away and he's inches from my face, and I can taste the chocolate and peppermint of his breath. How did I know?

"Seriously?"

All I can do is nod.

The world screams to a halt when his lips crash into mine with force enough to knock me backward. Heaven and Hell merge and I'm swept up in the sweetness of his kiss and the exquisite torture of his body melding with my own.

Eons later he releases me, and I gulp in air like a drowning man. I find his eyes and try to convey every single emotion I've ever felt for him through them. Understanding dawns and he gives me that same cocky grin from my woodland fantasy.

"Took you long enough, homo. I've noticed you watching me for months. Always thought I had something on my face. Never thought you liked me back."

He casually reaches up and slides the carnation behind my ear. He turns and flashes his middle finger in the direction of his group. They return it with grins of their own, before resuming their discussion as if Eric were never there.

"Let's go talk about where you got your balls from." Another grin and a linking of arms and off we go.

Maybe there's something to my theory about cosmic connection. Maybe I'm full of myself.

Maybe I'm not so broken after all. Or I could be completely fucked.

Maybe I have a place in the "real world". Possibly it's not so real to begin with.

I don't particularly care however you look at it. All I know is that I'm okay with my sickness for the first time. I don't plan on trying to get better.

Poor Craig. He's going to have to find his own partner for that train ride.

But that's the future. Right now…indefinable, intangible…this love concept seems like a pretty good one.

Sorry Dad.

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Just something to put me back on the map. Please review...they make my day. I always like to hear what I've done right or wrong. Praise makes me giddy, concrit is treasured, finding out what parts were liked and why? I dance like an idiot. If you didn't like...fill me in on that too. Just please keep it civil and coherent. Flames cause endless amounts of amusement...especially if it's over the homosexuality featured, mainly because it's so funny how those that flame believe their bigotry and irrational, illogical arguments make them sound intelligent, witty and righteous. I'm here to improve as a writer. That's what this site is for. You want to be a jerk? There's other sites that openly welcome that. Go there and GTFO my FFn.

Tell me what you think...just act like a fellow human being about it. :

Twitch out.


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